


What Hurts Most

by lamia (kassidy)



Series: Sometimes They Come Back [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Animated), Under the Red Hood
Genre: Alternate Ending, Angst, Arkham Asylum, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, M/M, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000, jaydick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-04-03 04:37:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4087141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kassidy/pseuds/lamia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Batman disappears off the streets of Gotham, Jason's lost his agenda, and Dick is...well, Dick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tipitiwitchet (no_one_in_particular)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/no_one_in_particular/gifts).



> I said I wouldn't wait until the last minute to write this, but circumstances were against me (also known as teenagers on summer break and in my house). Due date of June 8 *hurtled* toward me (also known as Name Your Poison/Best Friends Day - take your pick, I think both apply, though not relatedly;)
> 
> The conclusion to Sometimes They Come Back for my best friend, no_one_in_particular.

Alfred never left Bruce alone. The man's innate, precise ability to appear only when needed had vanished entirely.

Standing ramrod straight in his severe butler's outfit, gray mustache trimmed into sharp, symmetrical perfection, Alfred inquired about such things as Bruce's food intake and how much sleep he'd gotten. He ignored Bruce's incredulous looks, his lifted brow and terse replies.

Alfred sounded, in fact, much the same as he had when addressing Dick as a boy. It was almost intolerable, but Bruce kept the peace. He knew why Alfred worried.

There was no need.

Bruce stood at the window, looking out over the city and the sly, winking lights of nighttime Gotham. He'd been Bruce Wayne for three solid days, no breaks to let the Batman out. His skin felt tight; his fingers itched for the utility belt. He closed his eyes. He could _feel_ the buffeting changes in air pressure against his body, swooping through the city.

Gotham remained quiet, uncharacteristically so, as if the city had taken a deep breath after the chaos brought about by the Black Mask, Jason and--

Bruce's hand tensed, iron circle around his cup.

_It's a hell of my own making--_

_My fault._

"Is there anything I can do for you, sir?"

The cup shattered. The Joker whooped insane laughter in his head.

Bruce stared at it, at the spilled liquid on the floor. Watched it spread, mix with droplets of his blood.

The Joker kept on laughing.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Jason retreated to a safe house in Gotham. The place was a hole in the wall, subsumed within an old apartment building with thick walls of scarred stone and gouged wooden floors. Decrepit, the same as a hundred other such buildings in Gotham. Perfectly invisible.

It was more of a weapons cache than anything, a tiny room in back that was supposed to be a bedroom instead filled with boxes of guns, ammo and explosives. Weird, how dangerous they were and how comforting they felt. He stood at the door, holding the doorknob, staring inside. It was still dark--he'd fled Dick's place during the night. But he'd flicked on a lamp in the living room as he passed it, and now the warm, dim light fell in through the door and shadowed the stacks of boxes.  

His arm began to ache. He pulled his hand from around the doorknob with an effort and realized he'd been standing there for hours. The room was beginning to lighten. Dawn was coming.

His stomach growled. He ignored it, shoved through boxes piled one atop another to the middle of the room, shoved more boxes aside and lay down in the floor in the middle of them. He blinked in the dimness.

He wasn't angry with Dick. He had no right; it was the other way around.

What had Dick said to him--that what he'd done was unforgivable? Yeah. Sounded about right. Jason's plot had blown up in his face.

He hadn't thought about how Dick might affect him. Hadn't allowed himself to think of anything so insubstantial as feelings. Except anger. Anger was what Jason relied on. It was his tried and true go-to default. Should have known that wouldn't hold for Dick. Jason's feeling for him could never be less than complicated. 

The boxes rose all around, plain cardboard with a comforting, musty smell. He reached out for one, patted it affectionately. Weapons didn't talk, didn't complicate. They performed, given that the trust between them and the operator had been maintained--guns needed cleaning, knives sharpening, basic stuff. Easy.

He slept.

And woke with the feel of the Joker's hands, bony but powerful, pinching claws over his thighs. He scrabbled to get away, yelled out, but his mouth was bone-dry. The words didn't make much sense. Sounded like _leefaloe_.

He sat up, his heart trying to bounce out of his chest, and curled his body over his knees. 

Leefaloe.

He laughed and couldn't stop, high and hysterical and full-bodied just like the Joker, and _that_ made his throat close up tighter than Fort Knox.

Jason jumped up and stood, looking around the room. _No Joker for fuck's sake_ , he said to himself, and _Can we get a grip now, please?_   He brushed a hand through his hair, and it was stiff, standing upright, kind of like, oh, the Joker's hair, if shorter. He looked at his hands, holding them out.

It was confusing--could they have held the thighs of a unwilling boy apart? A boy who fought, cursed and spit, then sobbed, and then did nothing, absolutely nothing but wait through interminable pain?

Jason stumbled into the living room, legs refusing to cooperate, like someone else controlled them.

There by the lamp on the end table was a slip of paper. He turned his head, birdlike, too quick. Not the way he moved.

_Who am I?_

He was fucking _losing_ his mind.

Jason spotted a pen on top of the narrow room divider between the living room and tiny kitchen. He grabbed the paper and stumbled to the divider, leaning against it. His hand trembled, reaching for the pen. He cursed himself for it. The pen gouged the paper. After that he made himself be careful.

He felt better when he was done. Purposeful.

He had to piss.

The apartment's bathroom was laughably small. He flushed the toilet, accidentally jamming an elbow into the wall. Electric shock ran through the knob of bone. Jason cursed. He jammed his elbow into the wall again on purpose this time, then banged the same spot with a fist. It hurt. Distracted him.

He had no plans for this night. He had no plot, no anger, really, except for the usual carried for the Joker.

Shame, yeah. He hadn't wanted to walk out on Dick, but he had no defense to counter Dick's words. They were true.

The situation with Batman had been different. Jason had a plan, hell, had one for years. And then he had backup plans.

Now nothing. His brain was white noise. It figured that Dick Grayson would disarm him so easily.

_"I know you're the Red Hood, Jase. I don't like it, but you being here just gives me time to prove to you that your way is wrong, and mine is right."_

Jason rolled his eyes. Smug bastard.

But somehow after remembering that, he began to feel better.

*

He moved aimlessly through the city. He felt useless. Whenever that happened, work was the answer.

Jason started with small-time robberies, which was funny in a way, because sure, he'd kill other killers, but even he couldn't justify killing these small-time dickheads. Which meant that, at least for the moment, he was doing what Bruce and Dick (speaking of dicks) wanted of him. And he had to take them in to the cops, which was not something a guy like him ever wanted to do, or explain. He started tying them up with a note in front of the police station, which amused him for awhile.

Gradually, over a couple of days, somehow (he insisted it was coincidence to himself, because sure he knew better but it still made it easier) he made his way into Bludhaven. And saw Dick.

Yeah, well maybe Jason looked for him.

Dick was still perfect, what a surprise. Jason resented him, but mostly, if he were to be honest, _wanted_ him _._

Dick walked toward his apartment, fluidity and effortless power disguised in ordinary civilian garb. He wore jeans and a button-down shirt, and he carried a bag of groceries from some fancy little organics store. His hair hung a little over his forehead, thick and sleek, black as night. He was growing it out. His blue eyes were bright, _alive_ even through the solemn, eternal smudge and smog the citizens of Bludhaven dared to call air.  

Jason followed him on the sidewalk, silent. When Dick turned Jason made sure his face was perfectly expressionless.

"Stalking a new hobby of yours?" Dick waited and when Jason didn't answer, sighed and said, "So when are you gonna quit following me?"

Jason shrugged. "I have no plans either way."

Dick grinned, amused. "You, really? Just flying with the wind?"

"That's you, Grayson. Free as a bird." Jason swallowed, feeling he'd somehow given away more than he intended.

"But not you." Dick shook his head. "Your whole life is a plan--at least as far as you can make it."

"Hey, I can improvise," Jason protested, but then he smiled back, surprising himself. Or maybe it was relief. "Yeah, I guess that's right." he shrugged again. "At least that's the comfort zone."

Dick turned back to the door, Jason following him inside. They took the stairs to the apartment. Dick unlocked the door quickly and disappeared for a minute or two in the kitchen, presumably unpacking groceries. He emerged into the living room and shed his shoes, leaving them beside the couch. "C'mon, sit."

"Slob." Jason sat down beside him. His skin felt wired, electric and jumpy. He tried not to let it show, though it probably made him look hostile.

"Did you come here to comment on my housekeeping abilities?" Dick sat forward on the couch, angled toward Jason, elbows on his knees.

"I--" Jason huffed, irritated. "No."

"That's right, you came to talk," Dick said. "Something we have to get out of the way first, okay?"

Jason waited.

"What were your plans for me? When you came to me and lied, told me the Red Hood had been holding you?"

Jason stood, didn't realize he'd done it until Dick grabbed his hand, looking up at him. He slid a hand over Dick's, covered it with his own. Anchoring them both. "To--to take you from Bruce."

"Because--"

"Stop prompting me. Revenge. Vengeance. To show him. Damn but I'd almost rather die than do this."

Dick ignored the comment. He shook his head, amazed. "You wanted to teach _Bruce_ vengeance?"

"I know how it sounds. It was fucked up. But why didn't he kill the Joker? After what he did to me?"

Dick's hand tightened on his. 

Jason couldn't stand it. "If you think for one damned second that you can pity me, we'll both be sorry."

"Not pitying you. That's not something you need."

"So don't look at me like that or I swear to God--" Jason yanked his hand away and stepped back. He took a deep breath.

"I missed you," Dick said softly.

"I wanted to separate you from the man you call your father, Dick. Understand that."

Dick nodded. "You did pretty well, then. So far. But if you know me, you know it won't last. What will you do when I talk to Bruce?"

"Nothing." Jason shrugged again. "I tried manipulating the situation before and we know how well that worked. I'm--I wish I hadn't."

"No him or me shit," Dick stated. "That won't fly. Ever."

Jason glanced at him, irritated. "I get the message." He sat down again.

Dick changed the subject. "So how are the dreams?"

Jason felt his face freeze, knew he was scowling.

Dick sighed.

Jason raised his hand, pushed aside the collar of Dick's shirt.

"What?" Dick asked, softer.

"No more bruises. That's good. At least I can't hurt you now."

"You sure about that?"

Jason jerked his head up, staring. "I don't know if it's safe being with me, so yeah. Without me is better."

Dick relaxed into the couch. He crossed his arms. "You think you're a danger to me?" he scoffed. His long legs sprawled open.

Jason tried not to stare, was pretty sure he failed when he glanced up for an instant and saw Dick's nostrils flare, his hand curve loosely over the bulge in his jeans.

Jason looked away again, busily not staring, and Dick's mouth covered his while he was doing it. Jason moaned embarrassingly at the contact, sank back into the couch.

Dick's lips curved against his in a smile.

The smug, smug son--

"Dammit!" Dick swore. He pulled back, blood on his lip from where Jason bit him. 

Jason smiled. He tried not to make it look victorious.

Dick swore one more time and was on Jason again in a heartbeat.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Dick pushed Jason into the couch cushions, tried to let his weight sag like a graceless, solid, _clunky_ biker type (like the guy beneath Dick on the couch, come to think about it). Maybe that would keep Jason from getting up.

But Jason didn't try to move. Instead he spread his arms and his legs, gathered Dick in so hard that the breath whumped from Dick's lungs.

"Missed me, huh," Dick said, not bothering to keep the satisfaction out of his voice.

"Fuck if I didn't," Jason agreed lazily, and yanked Dick's hair, brought his mouth down to kiss him hungrily. "I was--" Jason mumbled, then tried again when Dick decided to let him use his lips for speaking, "--a mess."

"A mess?" Dick echoed, couldn't believe Jason actually admitted to it.

"It's what I said," Jason said, irritable and sounding more like his old self. "Look, I know it can't be this easy, okay? There's a lot I'd never be able to forget or forgive if I were you--"

"You're not me," Dick interrupted. "And we got the deal-breaker out of the way already."

"You mean Bruce."

Dick pushed up, looked at Jason's face. "I mislead you a little. I actually went to see him yesterday. It was awkward. He acts like I'm this big victim in all this, when I--"

"Wait, you think you're not?" Jason heaved himself up on his elbows, bringing Dick up along with him. "You were drugged." He struggled a minute, added, "I drugged you."

Dick sat up. He didn't know what Jason saw in his face, but whatever it was, the man looked perplexed.

So Dick kept talking. It was the thing he did best, after all (or so Alfred used to say, even if in his driest, most exasperated voice). "The time before when I saw Bruce--the time you were pissed off about--I asked him how many lives would have been saved if he'd killed the Joker."

"Damn." Jason tried for casual and failed. "What'd he say?"

Dick looked closer at Jason, sorry he'd brought it up. But he had, and he owed Jason an answer. "He said...if he ever started killing, who could stop him?"

Jason shook his head. "He said that? Talk about ego." 

"It's not ego, it's simple fact even if that annoys you. And it would ruin him." Dick checked to make sure the point was taken, but Jason's expression was stiff. Dick blew out a long, sighing breath. "There's something else going on with him. I can't figure it out. And no one's seen Batman in days."

He had Jason's attention again. "What do you mean, nobody's seen Batman?"

"Just what I said. Bruce is around, but he's not been on patrol as Batman."

"How many days?"

"Five at least. Maybe a week."

"Does Bruce have any current business complications, something that might explain things?"

"Not that I could find out."

"Did you talk to Alfred?"

"No. I couldn't get him alone."

"I don't know if it'll help, but I'll keep an ear out," Jason offered. He dropped back on the couch, pulling Dick with him. His green eyes narrowed. "Now don't you want to talk about something else?"

Dick grinned at him, reared back on his side and clamped a firm hand over Jason's dick.

Jason gasped, ass coming off the couch.

Thrown by Jason's motion, Dick rolled into the back of the couch, but he didn't stop touching Jason. He didn't think he could even if the apartment was on fire. With his other hand he grasped the zipper, yanked it down.

Jason's hand stopped him. "Is there a prize for crossing the finish line, Dick?" His voice sounded rough, breathless.

"Sorry. Been a while," Dick murmured.

"Yeah." Jason hauled Dick squarely on top of him again and cupped a hand at the back of his neck, massaging the neckline. He reached up, brushing his lips lightly against the hollow between Dick's collarbone, then lapped with his tongue.

Dick shivered, arched his throat, head going back.

"Fuck yeah," Jason whispered, "Like you like this." He closed his mouth around the curve of Dick's throat, teeth scraping skin.

Dick heard Jason's breath change, grow deeper, slower. His mouth dragged over Dick's throat.

Then the teeth. Deeper. It hurt. Dick swallowed. "Jason, hey," he tried.

Jason smirked against his skin. "Does it hurt?" He didn't sound exactly like Jason anymore--harsher, and not the tone he used to cover up feeling.

Dick closed his eyes, tried to calm his disappointment, but dammit, he'd missed Jason so much, wanted him and not the _thing_ inside him--

Fuck, how could he _think_ that, he knew what the Joker had done to Jason--

He breathed deep, centering himself.

"What hurts more--most--" Jason's voice started out wrong, but he fought it, and with every word he sounded more like Jason again, hurt and hurting. "It's not what you think. Not what the Joker did, Dick." He kissed the place on Dick's neck where he'd bit him.

Dick cleared his throat, but to him even that small noise carried his guilt. An admission of his own impatience and lack of understanding, thinking of Jason's damage as a separateness, as if the person who'd inflicted it were here. There was only Jason and himself. 

"What is it?" he whispered, suddenly bone-tired.

But Jason wouldn't answer. He sat up.

And no matter what Dick said, he couldn't get Jason to stay.


	4. Chapter 4

The note was delivered, as Alfred had said, by "persons unknown," after which he'd added, "Be careful, sir."

Bruce nodded absently, barely looking up. He'd had the rare occasion last night of having a few too many drinks, and as a consequence this morning had suffered through Alfred's hangover recipe, an old family tradition passed down.

A sure cure, indeed. Bruce grimaced.

But that was this morning. He sat down at the huge old desk in his study and pulled at his tie, loosening it. He'd just come home from a meeting. His stomach growled. "When can I expect dinner, Alfred?"

Alfred inclined his head, pleased as always when Bruce showed interest in meals. "Very soon, sir."

Bruce nodded, slumping back in the luxurious brown leather after Alfred left the room. He picked up the small, plain envelope off the desk, Bruce's name scrawled in decisive black. He sliced the top with the letter opener, opened it and began to read.

  
Dearest B,

I've been thinking of you and just had to write. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, so we've all been told. 

Actually, it's not exactly you I've been thinking about lately. And as you know, I have a LOT of time on my hands nowadays, even if they are tied up.

The time we spent together in the warehouse, just your little lamb chop and I... well, I think of that time and my heart goes pitter-patter. And I wanted to say that while it's a shame you've lost him--never fear! Our young man won't be forgotten.

Oh, the memories I have! Why, they're like a party inside my head, thrown just for me EVERY SINGLE DAY, like--icing on a cake, fireworks on the fourth--HAHAHAHAHA, hey, here's an inside joke for you--like a CHERRY on top of an ice cream Sundae! Fresh and tart and oh so delicious! Lip smacking goodness, wouldn't you say?

You can't imagine the things I think of to keep myself occupied here in my lonely, empty cell at Arkham...well, hold the horses and wait just a minute. I'll bet you CAN imagine it. I'll bet you DO. And aren't they lovely, those memories? Don't they keep you warm at night? They do me!

Anyway, just wanted to share the sweet nothings, Batmandu! Oh, and be sure to thank my guards here at the keep the next time you see them!! They're so very nice, don't you think, agreeing to deliver my little missive to you??! Their agreeableness is kind of costly, but what can you do, these guys have lifestyles to support, and of course prices are rising everywhere--it's just INSANE!

Aw what the heck, let's not stand on formality,

KISSES,

Your ever lovin', rootin' tootin' JOKER

 

Bruce lowered the note. It slipped onto the desk.

It was a letter designed to anger. The Joker's forte, and it had done its job. Bruce knew that. He'd been provoked by the Joker many, many times in the past.

But why now? After five years?

Somehow the Joker knew that Bruce had all the facts now. How he'd abused Jason. And he'd decided to use it to provoke his nemesis. But that wasn't what bothered Bruce.

The fact that he'd held onto these memories for five years, cradled them close, pulled them out whenever he wanted to--to-- _God,_ no. And Bruce could never take that away from him. It was unbearable.

"Dinner's ready, sir." Alfred was a black outline in the doorway.

From nowhere at all, Alfred's words rose from the past, repeating inside Bruce's head.

_Sir, this is not your doing. You loved him. He knows that, it should be enough._

Maybe it had been, maybe it hadn't. Bruce would never know.

"Later, Alfred. I need to get outfitted. It's time I checked up on Gotham's night life, don't you think?"

For a moment, Alfred's relief was palpable, but then Bruce smiled. Or he tried. It sat like a dead fish on his face.

Alfred's relief fled. His face drained of color.

"You're not pleased," Bruce said.

"I was sure this was exactly what you needed, sir. I'm beginning to think I was wrong." Alfred stepped closer. "May I ask what was in the letter, sir?"

"No, you may not." Bruce stood. "Gotham needs me. The problem is, Arkham's in Gotham. The Joker's in Arkham. And now I know everything he did to Jason. Do you understand?"

"Everything?" Alfred repeated. "What else could have happened to Master Todd, sir?" For once Alfred's precise modulation failed him, but there was no one to hear.

Bruce had already left the room.


	5. Chapter 5

Earlier that day in Gotham, Jason rounded up a jewelry store thief, an arsonist, two muggers and, oh yeah, another mugger. He'd had a moment of excitement, thought he'd busted in on a mad scientist scheme to melt down all the metals in Gotham, but hey, it turned out to be nothing so fanciful. Just an incident at the local foundry.

Okay, so he was a little bored.

Jason called Dick on that one and filled him in, standing in the sunshine on a filthy corner and relishing the sound of Dick's laughter coming down the line. It made him feel as if they still had a chance, somehow. Felt damn good.

He spoke with his contacts. According to everyone he talked to, Batman still hadn't made an appearance. No one knew why. The city was talking, but since things had so far remained peaceful--that is, no threats of the type to topple the city kind of thing--talk was as far as it went.

So rounding up the small fish nibbling at the edges of Gotham's criminal pond wasn't exactly earth-shaking, Jason admitted, but it was what he needed. Kept him busy, kept him feeling useful, kept his mind working. Kept his mind off the fact that he couldn't spend an hour or two with Dick without the ghost of Joker's past taking over.

In the evening Jason showered and grabbed himself some takeout Chinese in the middle of town. Riding the motorcycle was good--it always was, but the breeze in the city barely had any stink that night, an extra bonus. He ate the food standing in the kitchen of his hideout, washing it down with sugary soda. 

Afterward, without thinking too much about it, he climbed on his motorcycle again and headed for the manor.

Bruce Wayne's manor. The man he'd tried to off along with himself and the Joker, last they'd met. He grinned at himself--if he were going insane, this was the way to do it--with verve and chutzpuh, right?

He stood at the massive doorway and looked up at the sky, reminiscing. Good times.

Ah, sarcasm.

Time to step up, face the music. Finally. Again. Whatever. It made him feel purposeful.

Alfred opened the door, his face stiffer even than normal. Which must not be easy to accomplish; the man looked like wood.

Jason stepped closer. Very pale wood.

Alfred gestured him inside, and then Jason found himself hugged.

Alfred _hugged_ him. Spontaneously. This was not something a butler did, even a longtime family butler whom Jason used to live with. Was it?

Jason patted Alfred's back awkwardly. "Hey, Alfred, good to see you. Where's Bruce?"

Alfred stepped back, his eyes reddened. "A note was delivered today. After Master Bruce read it, he left, not very long ago." Alfred's face was lined with worry. "I'm afraid it concerns you, sir. I skimmed it only moments ago. It's very...personal." His eyes were level on Jason's. "I'm sure Master Bruce is on his way to Arkham, sir."

Jason's mouth dried, an unholy mix of dread and anticipation rising in his stomach. "Arkham?" he repeated slowly.

"It's _him,_ sir."

"Where's the note?"

"Please. I'd rather you didn't."

The lack of 'sir' struck Jason. He stepped back, nodded. "I'll go after him."

"I'm not sure that's wise, sir."

Jason nodded at the tall, thin figure. "I'm sure it's not."

 


	6. Chapter 6

Dick hung up the phone. Jason hadn't answered, and Dick didn't leave a message. He figured telling Jason to come home, that Dick could handle whatever he dished out, was more of a face-to-face discussion.

Dick changed into the Nightwing costume for evening duty, then had second thoughts and slipped street clothes on over the outfit. He headed for Jason's shitty little hideaway in Gotham. He knew Jason had gone to ground there for the last few days. Of course Jason didn't know Dick knew about it. He would soon.

It was twilight, the city's skyline glowing faint pink. Overhead the sky shaded smoky blue, going darker by the minute. 

Dick cased Jason's apartment building, walked to the back and checked out the layout before doing Jason the courtesy of climbing upstairs to knock at the door on the chance he was there. But the place was silent. Instead of breaking the door lock, Dick retreated outside again. He came in through the bathroom window, singing the song of the same name in under his breath, only changing the pronoun. Breaking in was a piece of cake. With all the weapons Dick was sure was inside, Jason ought to be a little more careful. Then again, normally no one would break into this hole. Break  _out_ of, maybe.

Dick wandered through the rooms, making a quick check of the place before it got too dark. The place was pathetic--an end table, a dusty couch. No bed in the bedroom, only boxes. He opened the refrigerator, found the remains of some meal stored in a take-out box, a couple cans of soda and a six-pack of beer.

His cell rang. Maybe Jason calling back. He pulled his phone from his back pocket, the display throwing blue light into the darkened apartment.

"Master Dick."

"Alfred, hi. Is Bruce okay?"

Alfred paused. "You know, sir?"

"I know something's going on, and from the sound of your voice it's nothing good. Tell me what it is, please."

"It's a letter. The Joker managed to have it delivered here." Alfred paused. "If what it says is true, it's...very ugly. It's about Master Jason."

Dick swallowed. "I know what happened to him, Alfred. But Bruce is too smart to be manipulated by the Joker."

"Certainly no one can change Master Bruce's course of action if he isn't inclined to follow," Alfred agreed, "but I believe the letter only firmed his resolve."

"To what?"

"To...permanently retire the Joker."

"Kill him? No way." Dick shook his head in denial.

"You'll remember how close he was to doing just that after Jason died." Alfred's voice was solemn. "You may not have much time left. Jason has already followed Bruce to Arkham."

"What? How did Jason know--never mind. I'm on my way," Dick said, already in the process of stripping down, one-handed, to his Nightwing costume.

"Good luck, sir."

Dick hung up, muttering, "I'm sure as hell going to need it."

*

In the light of day, Arkham Asylum was grim, imposing. At night it was terrifying, malevolence oozing from old stone like corrupted spirits set free in the darkness. Dick paid it no mind, vaulting over the gates with ease and racing toward the entrance. Which was, of course, on lockdown. But he had no trouble gaining access, thanks to his Nightwing persona.

The air inside the facility was chilled, the old place notoriously difficult to heat. Dick hurried to the floor where the Joker was held. The guards at the station weren't as cooperative as the staff who'd let Dick inside. Apparently Batman and his "companion" were already with the Joker. Batman had left instructions that no one else was allowed inside.

He'd anticipated Alfred's call, Dick reflected grimly. "Always a sidekick, that's me," he muttered under his breath. Louder he said, "Companion? What'd he look like? Was he wearing a costume?"

The man he'd been speaking to inside the guard station leaned closer, looking out through the plexiglass. He was bald and burly. "He wore civilian clothes, Nightwing. Black hair, maybe six feet tall."

"Did you hear them say anything before they went in?"

The man looked thoughtful. "For a minute there, I thought Batman was going to make the guy wait with us. Then the guy said something odd. That he deserved to be in there, too." He shrugged. "I guess that did the trick."

"And you just let the both of them in without asking why?" Dick's fists curled at his sides.

Another man stepped up behind the first, gray-haired, wide-shouldered. He almost looked offended. "Of course."

Dick nodded, turning away to stare at the blank gray walls opposite. He wrestled his frustration under control.

"Is there something we need to know about?" The gray-haired man asked when Dick turned around again. His eyes were ice blue, stern as he leveled his gaze on Dick.

"I need you to let me inside. I'll take responsibility."

"We can't--" the bald man began, then stopped when the gray-haired man shot him a look. He stepped forward, studied Dick.

"Well, what's it going to be? Whatever it is, it's got to be fast." No need to tell the man one way or another, Dick was going into that room. 

Finally the older man nodded. The first man stepped out of the station and escorted Dick down the hall. He stopped in front of the imposing door that held the Joker behind it, unlocking it. 

Dick grabbed his arm before he could swing the door open. "Thanks." The Joker's high-pitched laughter sent a chill down Dick's back. At least that meant he was still unharmed.

The guard narrowed his eyes at Dick. "I'll be right down the hall."

"Great, that's great," Dick said hurriedly, and stepped inside the padded walls of the Joker's cell.

Maybe unharmed wouldn't be the right word. The Joker was collared and chained, straitjacket buckled on either side of his chest. His eyes were black holes, glinting with his private brand of jolly, insane humor. Below his mouth, his chin was solid red. Blood dripped onto the surface of the table where he sat. 

"Boy blunder, as I live and breathe!" the Joker crowed. He grinned at Dick, big square teeth and black hyena lips. "Come join the party!"

"I told the men not to let anyone else in," Bruce growled.

"Not their fault. What have you done to him?" Dick glanced at Jason, leaning against the wall. He didn't like what he saw--black hair and white face carved in granite, hard eyes and thinned mouth.

The face of a killer.

_No. Not this time._

The Joker's green hair shook with glee, his eyes tracking Dick's perusal. "Well, this is a good show! I approve! Fodder for the lonely nights to follow."

"Who said you have any left," Batman said, deadly quiet. "How many years have you been assaulting children, you sick pervert?"

The Joker cocked his head. "Now, there you've gone and hurt my feelings. Surely you don't think I'd treat everyone the same? You're so very special, after all, you and your little boy Robins." He sat up straight, huffing out his chest self-importantly. "No, I reserve my extra special, very _best_ attentions for the Bats and company!" He bent his head, trying to gnaw at one of the buckles. He couldn't quite reach. He sighed in frustration, straightening up once again. "Now where was I? Oh, yes." He narrowed his eyes. "Your boys are talented and gifted, wouldn't you say? Pity I didn't get to train Blunderlicious here as well. Time management can be so difficult." Laughter peeled through the room. 

Batman stood, lightning fast, reached across the table in a flurry of cape and blurred movement, throwing the Joker to the floor. The Joker howled, laughter and something else. Dick thought his shoulder was dislocated. He flipped across the table and landed on the floor, trying to get in between the two.

Jason hadn't moved. Only his eyes tracked every movement.

The Joker craned his neck toward Batman, breathed, "I could have trained them both for you, Bat Buddy. It's a pity. They'd have learned under my tutelage. Can't you see it? Pretty little bottoms turned up naked every night in your bed, just _begging_ for your attention!"

"Bruce! Don't listen to him!" Dick intercepted Bruce's fist, caught it with a grunt. Strained to hold him back.

"Come on now, you can admit it to _us_ \--in your secret-ist heart of little hearts, isn't that really alllll you want?"

"You said it yourself, Dick--people have died because I let the Joker live," Bruce panted, looming over the Joker on the ground.

"And you knew better! You knew what it would do to you, remember?" Dick argued.

Jason stood, chair screeching across the floor. All eyes turned to him. "Don't," he said. His voice was hoarse. He cleared his throat.

Batman looked at him, ghostly white eyes glowing. "And what if he hurts someone else the way he--"

"I hope he pays for it. I hope he dies. This isn't the way it goes down. Him in a straitjacket and helpless, taunting you until you do what he wants." Jason stuffed his hands in his pockets. He looked like a teenager lost to the streets. "Don't."

Dick touched Bruce's arm. "We were wrong, Bruce. Please."

Batman looked at one and then the other, long moments of silence. He didn't look at the Joker. Then he stood, stepping over the Joker's body for the door.

And in the sudden quiet, the Joker's low, muttering chuckle grew to a full-throated laugh.


	7. Chapter 7

Hand jobs? Sure, they got those all the time. Blow jobs by the dozen (well maybe that was an exaggeration). Rubbing off on each other in bed, in the shower, you name it. And it was good, mind-blowing even, white-hot, but what Jason wanted most right now was Dick Grayson's perfectly muscled, flexible, oh-so-bite-able butt.

So what? A man couldn't be blamed. Hell, nobody could.

But Dick wasn't having any of it. He'd announced (not discussed, even though he'd insisted that's what they'd done) that Jason needed time to relax, feel truly comfortable being with him. This was sissy-speak. What he meant was Jason wasn't yet able to trust either himself, Dick, or both of them.

But there was another possibility--maybe Dick didn't trust _him_. Which was completely understandable after the way Jason had come back into his life. Nothing but lies on top of lies. So Jason had to put up with it.

Two weeks after the asylum, and Jason and Dick hadn't resumed full-out, balls to the wall sex. It was a crime was what it was, though Jason hadn't been able to convince Dick of it.

But at least the hatred Jason carried at all times had died down a little, or found a place somewhere within to rest. Which left him free to cater to his other obsession: sex with Dick.

And round and round he went.

He kept working the small-time clean-ups, only in Bludhaven instead of Gotham since he stayed there the most. Dick said Bludhaven's petty crime element was like cleaning algae from a pool--it came back the minute you let it alone. Jason couldn't--wouldn't--do this forever, and he didn't know what he'd do if something bigger caught his eye away from Bludhaven...but for now he let the future unwind its own way. Which wasn't easy for a guy who ordinarily planned as obsessively as he did.

One thing he knew. He didn't intend to walk away from this thing between them.

Last night on patrol Dick had ridden Jason's motorcycle. Naturally he'd gotten the body dinged up.

"First time out, Dick," Jason said pointedly.

Dick had the nerve to grin at him, though he'd taken it to a shop first thing this morning.

Bruce invited them to dinner. That evening, Bruce, Jason and Dick had dinner at the manor, served by Alfred. First time together in literally years. It was awkward. There were a few good moments, and the conversation found its footing, but it was by no stretch of the word comfortable.

Jason had a lot of left-over feelings toward Bruce, things that didn't know how to disappear after years of wearing tracks in his head--not even after the man offered to kill for him.

He still couldn't get over that, and the look on Bruce's face at the asylum. He was pretty sure Dick couldn't, either.

After dinner Alfred drove them home, the city streetlights flashing in through the car windows. Jason rolled down his window and let the humidity inside. Dick glanced at him and did the same. Jason saw Alfred give them the stink-eye in the rearview, but he said nothing. He'd have to raise his voice, anyway, with the wind roaring through.

Once at Dick's apartment, Jason couldn't settle down. He thought about heading out, checking the neighborhood for activity, but the idea held no real appeal. He jittered his foot restlessly by the side of the coffee table until the whole floor shook.

Dick's hand clamped down on his high. "Will you cut it out." He was watching some nature show, hyenas versus lions. Jason didn't know why he bothered--he saw them everyday out on the streets.

Jason jumped up, annoyed for no real reason, went into the kitchen and came back with a water bottle. He slugged half the contents down noisily, still standing. Dick glanced back at him, back at the TV screen. 

"What I did to you--"

Dick craned his neck to look at him, startled.

"It was unforgivable. You said that."

"You mean the drugs, right?"

"Of course the drugs. And the lies."

"I also said I forgave you anyway, dumb ass, or didn't you hear that part?"

"What I want to know is why?"

Dick pressed a button to mute the TV.

"Never mind," Jason muttered. He bent down over the back of the couch, curled a hand under Dick's chin and hauled him back to kiss him upside-down. Their mouths were a weird fit that way, but Jason liked it. He wiggled a hand down into the neckline of Dick's shirt, stroking over warm, smooth skin.

Dick pulled his mouth away, tried to catch his breath. "Well, why'd you forgive me for taking advantage of you?"

Jason stared down at him, tugged at a lock of hair. "What in hell are you talking about?"

"I mean I kissed you first."

Jason blinked. "You mean all those years ago?"

Dick nodded, at least a little. Jason still had hold of his hair.

"For fuck's sake, are you serious?"

"It was an impressionable age for you," Dick protested.

Jason laughed. "I used to jack off thinking about you sucking me off by then, you know that?"

Dick's eyes grew round. "The hell you did."

Jason laughed harder. He wiggled his brows, finally managing to get out, "Oh, but I did." He leaned over and kissed Dick again, gentle little kisses. "You've spent years worrying over that, haven't you," he said against Dick's mouth.

"No," Dick said without conviction. He offered up his mouth again and they kissed more, long and leisurely, mouths sliding together, slow nips and tongue touches. The TV screen flickered bloody images of lions eating prey, of hyenas harassing lions trying to eat their prey.

Jason climbed over the back of the couch and pushed Dick until he was lying prone, then lay on him, and it was already too long apart to bear, his lips crashing onto Dick's again, fingers in Dick's thick black hair. He rubbed his hands over the short hairs bristling at Dick's neckline. It was like rubbing fingers over a shoe brush, somehow completely satisfying. His dick was trapped, hot and tight in his jeans, but he couldn't stop to adjust himself. Instead he reached under Dick's body, grabbed his ass with both hands and squeezed.

His ass was just--there were no _words._

"This isn't the produce aisle at the store."

"If it was I'd be arrested," Jason answered and brought their lips together again, hot slick mouths hungry for each other. Jason's cock was too hard, pulsing desperately in confinement. It was a miserable heaven.

Then Dick's hand was at his jeans, unzipping, unbuttoning, springing Jason's cock free. Jason nearly jumped off the couch at the touch.  The cool air was indescribable.

"Can't have you spraining your dick, right?" Dick smiled at him with those white teeth, pleased smile.

Jason laughed again, helpless, then watched with widening eyes as Dick licked his hand from palm to fingers in one wide swipe of his tongue and then wrapped it, hot and wet, around Jason's cock. He jacked him once and held it, squeezing the head.

Jason groaned, despairing. "Will we ever get to fuck again?" he whispered, not caring if he sounded pathetic.

"You think we're ready?" Dick's eyes glinted, sly, slaughter on the TV screen an unholy backdrop. 

Jason shrugged, though his heart hammered and he felt as if every bit of blood in his body had gathered at his dick to throb and beg for relief.

Dick squeezed his cock again, pitiless. "Tough guy. The bedroom?"

Jason blinked and nodded.

"All the blood left your brain?"

Jason stood, held out his hand. "Enjoying this at my expense is not an honorable thing to do."

"Not honorable. Huh." Dick's eyes were soft, affectionate. He followed when Jason tugged him into the bedroom. "Somebody's been watching too many Klingons."

Jason switched on the bedroom lamp, then tugged at the hem of Dick's shirt. Dick raised his arms obligingly. Jason had him then--twisted the shirt around his wrists and held them captive in the air. He bent to a dark nipple, thrummed and lashed it with his tongue.

Dick stumbled backward, hit the wall, and Jason was on him in an instant. He bit and licked and sucked at the nipple until Dick was shivering and panting, helpless. Slowly he untangled the shirt, pulling it all the way off. Dick's eyes were swallowed in dark pupil. He licked his lips and lowered his arms. He reached out for the bulge in Jason's open pants, rubbed firmly up and down.

Jason closed his eyes, groaning.

They undressed, frantic unzipping, buttons undone, shoes tossed. Jason straightened to stare at Dick.

Graceful neck, powerful shoulders, hard muscle. Beautiful.

Perfect.

_Bruce's favorite, perfect son._

_No, don't._

His cock jerked, unbearably full. Dick pulled him onto the bed, walking backwards before him, and lay down first, cock jutting proudly in the air, red and veined and thick. Jason's mouth watered. He wanted to suck him, feel the fullness of him, trace the ridges, but he wanted something else more--to sink inside Dick's heat, feel him shudder and tremble, watch his chest and cheeks blush red with need.

Dick reached over into the drawer of the nightstand and pulled out the lube, squeezed a heavy dollop of it into his hand. He spread his legs, squirmed, his fingers finding--

Jason closed his eyes, squeezing the base of his cock. He heard Dick grunt, knew he was opening himself and dared not look.

When he had control he opened his eyes again. Dick's legs were open, nipples peaked into stiff little points. His chest and cheeks were rosy. A thigh muscle twitched. "Hurry," he whispered. His eyes were huge. He licked his lips.

Jason's breath rasped in the room. He went to the side of the bed, lowered himself gently on top of Dick, oh God, all that heat and muscle against his own. The tremendous weight of his own desire was perilously close to overload, and he wondered wildly if his feelings for Dick were just too much. Too intense.

He couldn't think.

 _Now isn't that sweet? Do you really think a man like Dick Grayson could want a two-bit tire thief like yourself?_ The Joker tutted in his head. _Poor little boy, only a freak could ever truly want you._

_No. I'll do anything._

"Jason?"

"What hurts more?" he rasped into Dick's throat, then bit his own tongue until it bled.

Dick turned his head to Jason's ear. "You do. You and me." He moved his mouth against Jason's and kissed him, slow as a dream. Jason kissed him back, trying not to panic. He listened to their breath mingle together, tasted and smelled him--clean skin, shampoo, scent of arousal all Dick's own. Dick had ducked into the bathroom and used their mouthwash at some point. The thought made him smile. He chased the feeling, refusing to turn away from it.

The Joker's voice was still there, not as strong. _You lose,_ he thought at it.

"I want to fuck you," he breathed into Dick's mouth. "Can we fuck?"

"God," Dick rasped, spreading his legs. "Just don't wait for the engraved invitation, yeah?"

Jason grinned and reared back on his knees, squirting lube on his cock. His hand trembled. No fucking matter, he was going _in._ He rolled Dick up on his back a little, held his legs behind the knees, letting go of one to line himself up. He pushed inside in increments, watching Dick's face, the way he looked at the ceiling and gasped for breath, then clutched at Jason's arm and met his eyes.

Jason shoved forward until he was fully seated. "You okay?" he asked. His thighs trembled. He held himself in check with an effort, not wanting to lose it so soon.

Dick's face was sweaty, his eyes soft, almost unfocused. He smiled, wide and sweet, a little bit lecherous. "Never better."

Jason laughed, letting himself fall into it. He dug in with his knees and began to move, oh, fuck, slow, slow slide, and then Dick wrapped his legs and pulled him in, impatient. Jason got the idea all right, began thrusting, strong and a little rough. Dick groaned, digging in with his heels, moving when Jason moved. 

Dick's hips juddered, and he jerked upward, moaning. 

Nailed it, Jason thought smugly, thrusting faster until his skin tingled, heat flooding over the surface, rising higher. He clutched at Dick's hips, desperate, pounding in and out. Dick was already straining at him, fingers digging in Jason's arms, ass flexed, frozen into place. Come jetted out of his cock, landing near his chin, then another shot and another. Jason closed his eyes and came, yelling, strong, sucking spasms that pulled him over.

When he could, he opened his eyes. "You okay?" he asked again.

Dick kicked him with his heel for an answer, then loosened his thighs from around Jason's hips. Both of them were drenched in sweat. Jason sighed, slumped on the bed next to Dick and dozed off.

Sometime later a wet cloth hit him in the stomach. He grumbled, picked it up and wiped off some of the mess. Dick was watching him.

"What?"

Dick leaned over, opening the nightstand drawer again. He pulled out a small, square sheet, a single line scrawled in Jason's handwriting.

What hurts most = what I do to Dick in his name

Jason sat up slowly. "You took that from my place?"

Dick nodded.

"You had no right." He mouthed the words. They didn't mean anything.

"I know." Dick grabbed his hand and squeezed. "But this is true for you, not me."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just--if you give up. If you leave. That's what hurts most. So don't do that."

Jason looked at him, then looked away, then back. It was hard to believe anyone felt like that about him, let alone Dick. "Okay then." He smiled. "I won't."

"Yeah?" Dick grinned at him, delighted.

Jason leaned over and kissed the smile.

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

Batman swooped past the dark buildings of Gotham. The last time he'd felt this total sense of rightness, of being where he was supposed to be in the world, he'd had Nightwing at his side. It was just before Bruce figured out who the Red Hood was.

Before Bruce knew exactly what the Joker had done to Jason.

He remembered Dick at the bat cave, Alfred tending his injury.

" _He's got some moves, huh? And as much as I hate to belabor a point--"_

_And Alfred's dry voice: "And still, that is often exactly what you do."_

_"I'm chatty. it's part of my charm," Dick retorted._

Bruce allowed himself a slight smile. For all Dick's seeming frivolity, he was an amazing soldier, a trained, intelligent fighter who never gave up.

And now he was with Jason.

He allowed himself another memory, if only for a moment.

_"Check me out. I'm Robin, the Boy Wonder. Come on, old man, we've got bad guys who need chasing. This is the best day of my life!"_

Batman lit on the roof of a ten-story building. He looked out over the city--busy streets and snarled traffic, short-tempered drivers and smog. A city that never completely slept. His city. 

 _Maybe not, Jason. Maybe the best is still on its way,_ he thought. _I hope it is._

Then he remembered the peace--no, the _happiness_ on Jason's face when he was with Dick. He'd never seen either of them look at anyone the way they looked at each other over dinner the night before.

 _Or, maybe,_ he thought, _just maybe, it's already here._

 

*


End file.
